


If You Wanna Fight (We Can Go All Night)

by RetroactiveCon



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alley Sex, Cunnilingus, Fist Fights, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, nonbinary leonard snart, trans mick rory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: Mick wanders over and settles his hands on Len’s hips. His partner feels good under his palms—solid, but all playfully coiled, too. Mick can’t help thinking of him as a cat, waiting for something worth pouncing on. “Whatcha wanna do, huh? Feels like you’re itching for excitement. You want me to, what, take you out for a drink, let you start a few fights?”Len gets this little quirk to his lips that makes Mick think that’s exactly what he wants. “Well, yeah,” he admits a shade too casually. “But I’m all kinds of keyed up today. Take me to do that, I’m gonna wanna fuck when we get home.”It’s not like Mick minds, really. Sex isn’t his thing more often than it is, but right now? Sure, he could go for that, and he’s likely to be even more into it after a fight. “Say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Relationships: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	If You Wanna Fight (We Can Go All Night)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Rob Thomas's 'The Worst In Me,' which partially inspired this utter disaster of a fic.

Mick’s not exactly one for commenting on Len’s looks—he’s full of himself enough as it is. Or…no, that’s not quite right. But he’s awful good at using his body as a weapon, and he dresses the part, most of the time. All sleek and dark and dangerous—and sure, it’s got its appeal, but Mick knows it’s not genuine. (What can he say? He’s got a soft spot for when Len lets himself be genuine.)

And then sometimes, like today, Len decides he wants to be _aggressively genuine._

“Hey, Mick.” Len doesn’t do the catlike, put-on saunter into the room. Instead, he’s got a little bit of a spring in his step, which is cute enough on its own. Add to that the skirt he’s wearing, the way it swings and swishes around his knees with every bouncing step, and he’s pretty damn adorable. 

“Hey yourself,” Mick remarks. He does his best not to make a show of looking him over. (Like he said—Len’s ego’s bad enough.) But…damn. He doesn’t get to see Len at his gender-fuckery best most of the time. Used to be he was too caught up in surviving to want to let that side of him out. Now he’s more at ease with it. He wears it like an affront, like he’s throwing himself in people’s faces and daring them to cross him, but Mick knows how much it means to him. The aggressive act’s a sign of how vulnerable he feels. “Look nice like this.”

Len does a little twirl. The skirt flares out, and he gives a playful stomp with his booted foot, almost like he’s dancing. Mick’s never seen him try, even though he bets Len’s grace would translate well to the dance floor. “I feel nice,” he agrees with a tiny, proud smile. 

“Less like it’s a costume?” Mick checks. He’s never felt the way Len does about clothes—that they help play a role. Once he started wearing guys’ clothes, they _fit._ But he’s got the binary advantage—people can look at him and get what’s going on. Len at his most genuine is too complicated for a lot of people, so he plays roles when it’s easier. 

Len shrugs. “Feels about as right as anything ever does, yeah. I like how playful it feels.”

“Course you do.” Mick wanders over and settles his hands on Len’s hips. His partner feels good under his palms—solid, but all playfully coiled, too. Mick can’t help thinking of him as a cat, waiting for something worth pouncing on. “Whatcha wanna do, huh? Feels like you’re itching for excitement. You want me to, what, take you out for a drink, let you start a few fights?”

Len gets this little quirk to his lips that makes Mick think that’s exactly what he wants. “Well, yeah,” he admits a shade too casually. “But I’m all kinds of keyed up today. Take me to do that, I’m gonna wanna fuck when we get home.”

Mick almost makes a joke about it being testosterone-peak time, but no; Len just gets like this sometimes, craving the adrenaline rush and lots of sensation. It’s not like Mick minds, really. Sex isn’t his thing more often than it is, but right now? Sure, he could go for that, and he’s likely to be even more into it after a fight. “Say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Len grins and holds out his arm. “So, you wanna take me out and show me off?” When Mick grabs his arm and pulls him close, Len presses into him like he’s looking to be squeezed. Agreeably, Mick holds him tighter. “Well, come on, then. Let’s go see how much trouble we can make.”

The answer, of course, is ‘a lot.’ Len starts a fight before they even make it to the bar, after some asshole asks what’s under his skirt and doesn’t take kindly to Len’s smart-mouthed answer. Mick doesn’t even have to get involved. Len has the guy on the ground in three moves.

“You could’ve helped,” he remarks as they flee the scene. It doesn't sound much like he means it.

“Nah, you had it handled,” Mick laughs. “Plus, you’re a vision when you fight. Quick and deadly as fire.” He settles his hand firmly on Len’s hip. It’s not ass-groping—yet—though he bets Len would let him. Fighting gets his partner hot like nothing else. “Can’t wait to see more of that.”

Len does a proud twirl, skirt swishing around him. “Oh, don’t worry. Plenty more where that came from.”

They deliberately go to the bar where Len’s appearance is most likely to cause a stir. If it was a quieter day and they wanted a drink in peace, they know the way to the single gay bar that doesn’t trigger instant overstim for Mick. But they don’t want a drink in peace; they want bloody knuckles and an adrenaline rush. 

It doesn’t take long, either. They’ve barely got their drinks in hand when some asshole starts calling Len stuff Mick would never repeat. Mick’s itching to defend his partner after the first insult, but this was Len’s idea. That makes it Len’s show. Mick can wait for his cue.

Len makes a show of finishing his drink before launching himself forward. He’s got that wild grin that means he wants to bring all hell down on this asshole and his buddies. As much as Mick wants to kick back and watch for a little bit—nothing’s hotter than his partner in this mood—he can’t leave him without backup. He finishes his beer, smashes the bottle just for the sound it makes, and follows Len into the fray. 

Twenty minutes later, they tumble out of the bar, clutching tight to each other to keep their balance against the dizzying adrenaline rush. Len’s eyes are alight, his lip is bruised and split, and his cheek is dribbling blood from a shallow cut under his eye. Mick’s sure he must look just as bad: his jaw is throbbing with hot, insistent pain and his ribs twinge with every giddy laugh. 

“Showed them,” he chuckles, tugging Len toward home. They set off down the street, getting weird, worried glances from passersby.

“Damn right we did,” Len agrees. He pulls away from Mick to give another of those happy twirls. Mick’s pretty sure he spots a liquor stain on Len’s skirt and a bloodstain on the hem of his sweater, and somehow that just makes him prettier. He loves his wild mess of a partner. “Fuck, the fight’s more of a buzz than the alcohol. I wanna go again.”

Of course he does. Days like these, Len just craves more and more of the buzz. “Do you one better,” Mick says before hauling him into an alley. It’s a far cry from romantic, but that’s not really their thing. They prefer quick and easy and heart-poundingly public. They have maybe five minutes before someone comes after them to check whether they’re having a quickie or being mugged.

Mick slams his keyed-up little partner against the brick wall hard enough to hurt and kisses him hard and deep. His lips taste coppery from the blood still dribbling out of the split in his lip. When Mick probes the split with his tongue, Len hisses and nips at him. His blunt nails rake against the back of Mick’s head and neck, little lines of pain, but the hurt is just another sensation at this point. Just one more thing getting Mick worked up. 

“Back-alley sex, huh?” Len asks when the kiss ends. “We’re a fucking cliché.”

Mick snorts, hikes up Len’s skirt, and paws impatiently at the leggings underneath. “Layers and layers, why d’you gotta make it so hard to fuck you on days when you really wanna fuck?” He yanks the offending leggings halfway down Len’s thighs, just enough to stuff two fingers inside him. He’s as wet as he ever gets now—figures he would be, keyed up as he is—but that’s not very much. It’s gotta hurt at least a little bit. From the way Len tosses his head back, that’s just fine. 

“It’s my job to make your life difficult.”

Mick bites at Len’s exposed neck hard enough to leave a nice bruise. “Didn’t stoop to the ‘hard’ pun. Thought sure you would.”

The noise Len makes in answer is half a laugh, half a groan. Mick scissors his fingers inside him, trying to cut off whatever smart remark he’s about to make next. Of course it doesn’t work. “Not like it makes any difference whether I make anything hard. Still gotta use the strap same way I do…”

“Don’t hear you complaining about that,” Mick says, grinding the heel of his hand against Len’s clit. Len ruts his hips forward into it, chasing friction. 

“You’re about to leave me cold ‘til we get home, aren’t you, asshole?”

Nice to know he recognizes the warning signs. Mick pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on Len’s sweater. (He’s gonna hear about that in a bit.) “Then maybe next time don’t get mouthy when I try to give you a back-alley quickie.”

Len grumbles, pulls up his leggings, and smooths down his skirt. “I’ll pay you back for that,” he threatens. 

“Looking forward to it.” Like a fool, Mick actually is. 

They make it back home without further incident, which has to be some kind of miracle. That doesn’t do anything to calm Len down. If anything, it makes him even more desperate to keep the adrenaline rush going. 

The moment the door swings shut, Len’s hands are on Mick’s chest, pushing him backwards. The door is a solid weight against his back, Len warm and squirmy against his front. He doesn’t even have time to make a startled noise before Len’s lips press against his, hot and slick and sloppy. Mick gets out a playful “Greedy” when they break apart for air, but it comes out breathless and way too soft to be taunting. 

“Better believe it,” Len purrs. He slips his hands down the back of Mick’s jeans and grabs handfuls of his ass. Mick yelps and then gives as good as he gets. Len’s got a cute little ass under all the fabric, and Mick’s plenty eager to give it a squeeze. It gets him another of those happy purrs and a thigh slotting between his. The friction makes Mick jerk his hips forward and moan, and… _bastard._ He let Mick have control in the alley because it suited him. Now he’s the one setting the pace, and all Mick can do is lean into it and let Len work him up. 

“Gonna just make out against the door all night?” He’s not exactly complaining, with Len hot and eager against him. Still, with Len in an excitement-seeking mood like he’s in, just making out isn’t gonna cut it. 

Len pulls back and stares at him, and…wow. He’s a mess. His own blood is smeared on his cheek and lips, and Mick’s willing to bet he’s got smears of it on his face, too. Not like he minds. Natural conclusion of the day, after all, and it’s not like either of them has a problem with a little mess. “Getting impatient?” he laughs. His little pink tongue flickers across his own lips, tasting the blood smeared on them. He hisses when he licks over the still-oozing split in his lip. 

“To finish what we started in the alley?” Mick crooks his knee and grinds his thigh between Len’s legs. He can feel the heat even through the layers of fabric. “Hell yeah.”

Len grins, wild and playful, and pulls away. Mick whines at the loss of his warmth and tries to pull him back into place. “Oh no,” he teases, capering just out of reach of Mick’s grabbing hands. “I told you I’d pay you back for the alley, didn’t I?”

He did…and damnit, Mick’s not even mad about it. “What are you gonna do to me?” he taunts. Always best to make it a challenge. Len loves feeling like he’s got a reason to show off. 

Len tilts his head and considers. His eyes are bright and playful—he really wants to make Mick suffer for that alleyway taunting. “Well,” he drawls, stepping slowly backwards. “You know where my cocks are. Go pick the one you wanna take.”

Oh, so the little punk wants to be in charge tonight. Of course he does. Mick doesn’t have any kind of problem with that, because…damn. Len in this mood is one of the rare things that can make sex sound worthwhile. That feeling is what leads him to choose one of Len’s bigger toys—a ribbed, shiny navy monstrosity that looks weird but feels _great._

“Oh.” When Mick takes his choice over to Len, his partner beams in approval. “Good choice. I love seeing you squirm on this one.” He takes it from Mick’s hand and slips it into his harness. Mick watches raptly as he strips out of his filthy clothes and secures the harness around his hips. Len is a vision naked, even more when he’s got the harness on and this look in his eyes like he knows how much control it gives him. (Only as much as Mick allows him, but right now? That’s plenty.) “Undress and get on the bed.”

Mick tosses off his clothes as quickly as Len had. Sometimes, there’s a noticeable difference between them depending on who’s struggling more with dysphoria that day. Today, like hell he’s letting a little discomfort ruin the mood. Len’s all keyed up, and he’s got Mick just as eager. 

“Oh, look at you,” Len coos. He crawls on top of Mick, forcing him down until he’s flat against the mattress. The tip of the ridiculously long blue dick nudges into Mick’s belly, and he lets out a snort of laughter. Pinnacle of grace, that’s them. “Stop laughing when I’m trying to seduce you!”

“Stop jabbing me with your fake dick first.” Mick doesn’t stop laughing, purely out of spite. 

“Not what you’ll be saying in a moment,” Len singsongs. Two of his fingers push into Mick’s front hole. He’s covered them in plenty of slick, but the intrusion still feels weird. Mick knows from past experience that he’ll like it eventually, once he gets over the feeling of being vulnerable. 

To distract himself, he snorts, “You call fucking me ‘jabbing me with your fake dick’? That’s the unsexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“And yet, you’ve heard yourself speak.” Len’s still got that wild grin, like the banter isn’t dulling his enthusiasm in the slightest. Good. 

“I think we should both stop talking til we’re— _ohh_.” Mick trails off into a moan and rocks his hips, trying to take Len’s clever fingers deeper. He’s grateful his eyes flutter closed so that he doesn’t have to see Len’s smug smirk. 

The ridiculously long blue dick is just as good as Mick remembers, once it’s not jabbing him in the belly anymore. Len knows how to work his hips to make the absurd length not just pleasurable but comfortable. (He didn’t used to, which means he’s practiced—and that’s an adorable mental image that Mick needs to follow up on sometime. Right now he’s a little too busy moaning.) He’s got his fingers going on Mick’s cock, too, short jerking motions just the way Mick likes. 

“Know me too well,” Mick mumbles. He unclenches one hand from the sheets and reaches up to claw at Len’s shoulder. This position doesn’t do a whole lot for Len, sensation-wise. Mick’s gotta give him some more of that pain he’s been chasing all day, or he’ll get bored. 

“What?” Len tilts his head. Yeah, he still looks way too alert. Mick grabs him a little too harshly and rakes his blunt nails over the nape of Len’s neck. All that confusion melts away into a stuttering moan that Mick wants more of _now._

“Know me too well,” he says again. “M-make me come apart too fast.”

Len laughs at that. “I’m not used to people complaining that I’m _good_ at sex. But then you never did make any sense.” He says it so fondly that Mick can’t think of a response. Len’s letting out too many feelings on a day when he’s just been chasing sensation. 

Thankfully, Len seems to know Mick’s had just about all the feelings he can take. He brings him over the edge a moment later, fucking him through his orgasm while he squirms and clenches tight. He only stops when Mick melts into the mattress, relaxed and thoroughly fucked out. 

“Hmm, ditch the strap and come sit on my face,” Mick invites, waving a tired hand. It’s just good manners. He knows Len didn’t put a vibe in the harness to get himself off (though he sometimes does), so he’s gotta be expecting some kind of turnabout. 

Len is out of the harness in moments. He crawls up the bed until he’s beside Mick’s shoulders. Mick's ready for him to settle over his face, but he pauses. “Sure about this? You look kinda out of breath.”

“Like that’s ever stopped me,” Mick laughs. He runs his hand up Len’s thigh, then reaches back to give him a quick spank on the ass. “Hurry up before I change my mind and leave you to deal with yourself.”

“Does that mean I get to use the demon dildo?” Len just can’t stop running his mouth, even as he settles over Mick’s face. “Because I dunno, that almost seems like the better— _ahhh_ …”

Mick would smirk if his mouth wasn’t busy. So that’s all it takes to shut Len up. It’s not like it’s a chore, either; Len is warm and wet and feels _so good,_ even if the taste isn’t Mick’s favorite thing. And the way he falls apart…It starts with little moans that get loud real quick, because that’s the kinda mood Len’s in. (He sometimes tries to be quiet, and it’s Mick’s favorite game to get him loud then. Right now, though, he’s way too into the loud, sensory-seeking, aggressively genuine thing he’s been doing all day.) Then he starts clenching his thighs around Mick’s head, nice and rhythmic, and the pressure is _good_. Mick wants to tease him when that starts, because it means he’s close, but no way is he pulling back just to mouth off. 

Len comes with a shudder when Mick sucks on his clit just right and rakes his nails over Len’s quivering thighs. Mick makes a soft sound of discomfort—that’s wet, and not in a nice way—but he keeps going, sucking until Len pulls away and crumples down onto the bed. 

“Finally wore you out?” he asks delightedly. Lacking a sleeve with which to clean off, he grabs the corner of the bedsheet to wipe his face. Len looks on with the closest thing to disgust he can muster in the afterglow. 

“We have towels for that,” he points out, but he doesn’t move to grab one. 

“Yep, I wore you out.” That’s the important thing, not the sheets. They have to be washed anyway, with the mess of slick that got on them while Mick was squirming. “Guess that means laundry’s my job, even though it was your horniness that got us here.”

Len gives a little exhausted sigh. “I mean, if you’re volunteering…”

“Like hell I am.” Mick sits up and swings his legs out of bed. Moving gets another twinge of weirdness from between his legs. “Ugh, I remember now why we don’t do this often.”

Len watches him lazily without getting up. He looks like a cat, all sprawled out on top of the covers. As much as Mick wants to lie back down next to him and give him some post-coital cuddles, he can’t stand the thought of not having a shower immediately. “But it was good?”

“Yeah,” Mick agrees. He can’t leave his weird little partner thinking he’s unhappy. “Damn right it was good. Seeing you get all worked up on days like today is better than fire.”

He’s pretty sure Len blushes, which explains the too-sharp, “Aren’t you going to shower now?” Poor thing never likes to be seen blushy. 

“Yep, yep. Going now.” Mick ducks into the bathroom for a shower, feeling like he’s given Len exactly what they both needed.


End file.
